


A lifetime

by madeinfrance



Category: Las Chicas del Cable | Cable Girls
Genre: F/M, up to season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinfrance/pseuds/madeinfrance
Summary: Lidia and Francisco have known each other all their lives.
Relationships: Lidia Aguilar / Francisco Gómez
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	A lifetime

Alba is 6, and she's in love with Francisco.

They've been friends for a long, long time now, at least since last year, and she realized that he's her favorite person in the whole world. 

(She knows her mother should be her favorite person, even if she hardly ever sees her - Grandma tells her so. She thinks maybe Grandma should be her person, since she's the one taking care of her, or maybe her uncle.

She loves them both, but Francisco has a nice smile, and he's funny, and he always, always shares his candies with her, even when he has just the one. She loves him very, very much, and there's no doubt in her mind that he'll always be her favorite everything, always.)

She loves him very much, so when he decides they should get married, she instantly agrees, and smiles as she accepts the pretty flower he's picked up for her. 

"Not now, though," she tells him, making him frown. "We have to wait until we're grown ups."

"But why?"

He looks disappointed, and so Alba kneels just like him, and smiles again.

"We have to wait til we're grown ups, so this way we’ll have a lot of money, and we'll have a big wedding with a big cake, and a lot of decorations, and I'll have a dress like a princess. It will be beautiful, you’ll see!”

* * *

Alba is 13, and she's laughing, the sun tickling her skin as she runs her fingers on his chin. His pretty face so close, all she can smell amongst the flowers that are surrounding them is him, him, him.

She doesn't think she's ever been this happy.

"You're thinking way ahead," she jokes, even though her heart is already beating faster with love and want at what he just decided for their future.

A little girl, all theirs, with her mother's name and her father's eyes.

Alba knows they're still young, and that there's still so much for them to do and live before that. A whole new life, just the two of them, far, far away from that village. 

Still, she wants that - she wants him, forever, with a family of their own.

"It's decided, then," he smiles. Oh, how she loves that smile.

Francisco closes the small space between them and kisses her, then, soft, always so soft, and she feels it in her whole body. She doesn't understand how she still hasn't got used to that after so much time, but as he lays her down, their picnic long forgotten, Alba decides that she doesn't mind.

In fact, she hopes she never does.

("I meant it, you know," he whispers to her that night at her door, his forehead against hers. 

"I love you, Alba. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

The words don't come, neither does her voice, his tone way too soft, his eyes way too sincere, and so she kisses him, hoping he understands just how much she loves him, too.)

* * *

Alba is 15, and she can't believe it.

They did it.

They ran away, they caught the train. They're free. They're together.

The air is a little cold against her skin, but Francisco holds her close, and she buries her face further into his neck, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt. 

He's tracing slow, soothing patterns on her arm, and as she falls asleep, Alba smiles.

Tomorrow, they'll be in Madrid. Tomorrow, their life can finally begin.

* * *

Alba is 21, and she grips the edge of the sink, cursing herself for the silent tears streaming down her face.

She knew she shouldn't have followed him. She knew it wouldn't be him.

She wishes she could say that it's the first time she’s looked back, thinking that the dark curls and squared jaw she had just seen are the ones she's spent years admirring, caressing. Dreaming of. Looking for.

The sad truth is that she's lost count of the number of times she turned around to follow what always turned out to be a stranger, hope filling her heart until that inevitable moment when she realized she was wrong. 

The disappointment seems to get more and more painful each time. 

Today is no exception. 

Taking a deep breath, Alba straightens, fixes her makeup, and puts up that smile she's turned so good at making look convincing on her face. 

She reminds herself of Victoria's words: it's way past time to forget, now. Way past time to stop this nonsense.

And so, that’s what she’ll do.

(No matter how impossible it seems.)

* * *

Alba is 25, pretending her name is Lidia Aguilar, and her heart just stopped.

He's here. He's - here.

The feel of his hand is still burning her skin, his surprised face engraved in her brain. 

_ Francisco. _

Alba is a smart and independent woman who manages for herself because she learnt nobody else will. Yet as she looks up into the mirror, all she can see is the young girl whose heart just got broken as she lost the only person that has ever counted in a crowded train station.

* * *

Lidia is 26, and finally, she can see clearly.

It’s strange, that feeling: as if she’s been in a fog for so long, and now she’s finally able to see, to understand, her mind and heart clear at last.

Finally being to distinguish love from obsession, trust from betrayal. Real from superficial.

She’s been such a fool.

As he opens the door to her that night, Francisco asks her where they should go from here.

Lidia just closes the distance and kisses him, praying that he doesn’t reject her, praying that he hasn’t stop loving her.

He hasn’t.

* * *

Lidia is 27, and she’s about to get married.

She’s happy. Eva is safe and sound, the most beautiful being she’s ever seen. She has a job that’s waiting for her, and she’ll be able to give her daughter the family, stability and security she never had. Even some amazing aunties, too.

She’s happy.

She has to be.

She has to stop thinking of what could have been, of how close they were to finally, finally getting what they had always wanted, ever since they were six year-old. She has to stop thinking about the night and one day they had together, because replaying it over and over isn’t helping very much, anyway. She has to stop thinking of crooked smiles and dark eyes that brighten when they fall upon her, and that were full of tears when she told him they wouldn’t have their happy ending. She has to stop.

She’s not a child anymore - she’s not Alba anymore. She has a new life, one that she’s lucky of having found, and she can’t put her desires and well-being first now, because her baby is her priority. Always will be.

(Even if that means her own happiness no longer importing.)

As Francisco kisses her cheek in front of the church, telling her the one thing that hasn’t change is that he’ll always want the best for her, Lidia closes her eyes, and tries to ignore the way her heart falls into her stomach, broken, probably never to be put back together again.

* * *

Lidia is 28, and today, she doesn’t feel like celebrating.

She’s never been big on birthdays, anyway - she’s simply never cared much for them. This year, even less.

Well, she does have one wish. Something, she realizes, she wants more than anything. 

As she crosses his bedroom door, her eyes immediately fall upon him, and her chest tightens a little at the sight of his familiar, painfully still figure. And yet, now that she’s here, she’s able to breath a little better.

It’s been five months, and this paradoxical feeling is still the same, every day.

“Hi,” she whispers, a small smile on her face as she kisses his forehead. She lingers just a little, her lips grazing his skin a second time before she leans away just enough to see his face. Lidia lets her fingers travel in his hair, on his right cheek. His jaw, freshly shaved and smooth under her fingertips.

She puts her things away and settles down, the routine the same each night. When she looks up again, it hits her once more, how beautiful he looks.

If only he could open his eyes and look at her, so she could tell him that.

“I’m sorry I’m a little late tonight - the girls remembered it’s my birthday, and given the look Carlota was giving me, saying no to the drink they wanted to buy me wasn’t really an option,” she chuckles. 

As she leans on his hospital bed, Lidia takes his hand in both of hers, and kisses it gently once, twice, a third time before pressing it to her face, the alcohol she drank enough for the longing in her stomach to burn even harder.

She’s not sure how long she stays here just looking at him, her thumb tracing slow patterns on his skin. Waiting for him to wake up, always.

“I took a whisky,” she eventually says. “Well, two - maybe three, I’m not really sure. I could buy you one when you wake up, you know. But you do have to wake up for that.”

At her last words, her voice gets a little smaller, her eyes suddenly burning a little.

She doesn’t cry often - specially not in front of him. She doesn’t want to, strictly forbids herself to, because that’s not what Francisco needs right now. She needs to be strong, for him. And she is. She will be.

It does get a little too much sometimes, though, a little too hard to keep on going when he’s not here, when she doesn’t know when she’ll be able to talk to him again. It’s a little too hard, at times, to realize that she could forget the sound of his voice, the feeling of his arms around her, of just - him, close to her.

Some days, the weight of his absence is so heavy, Lidia struggles to keep only positive thoughts, to keep her hopes up, and to not drown in despair.

(It’s even worse when the voice in her head that whispers that it could get much worse, that he could give up and leave her alone in this world, gets louder. On those days, all she can do is crumble on herself, unable to move.)

Lidia tries, she really tries to keep those bad days to a minimum, and to just be here, talk to him about anything and everything, help him any way she can think of. But tonight -

“I miss you,” she confesses quietly, although not for the first time. “I promise I’ll buy you all the whisky you want if you wake up right now,” she jokes, her heart beating a little faster as she gazes at his face nonetheless.

He can do it. She knows he can - he has to.

“It will be the best birthday gift ever. It might even make me like birthdays.” 

Her fingers go up her down his arm now, and although she’s smiling and keeping her tears at bay, although it’s wishful thinking and unrealistic, Lidia realizes that she is waiting, really waiting for him to open his eyes at this moment.

To look at her with those beautiful eyes of his, and tell her everything is going to be okay, like he always does.

But, for the first time since they’ve known each other, Francisco doesn’t come to her rescue that night.

“It’s okay,” she says, dropping another kiss on his skin. Smiling for his sake, because he’s the one needing her now, and that’s okay. “I'll wait a little longer, then.”

( _ As long as you need _ .)

* * *

Lidia is 29, although according to her new, American driver license, she’s 30.

She’s fully aware that it’s not that important, and very much fixable, and yet, she’s extremely, irrationally annoyed.

“Come on - that means we have the same age, now,” Francisco says. He has the audacity to find this very funny, his laugh resonating through their bedroom, and as she applies her body cream on her skin with a little too much energy, Lidia turns around and makes sure to send him her most threatening look.

He’s smart enough to look apologetic, although his eyes are telling another story. 

Hands in the air, he gets out of their bathroom and closes the distance between them. “Alright, alright - not funny,” he admits. She can feel his weigh when he sits on the mattress behind her. “They’re idiots - don’t worry, we’ll get it replaced in no time.”

Lidia only groans, and Francisco gets closer, his barely covered chest warm against her back as his lips start trailing a path against her skin.

“I can literally feel you smile, you know,” she tries to complain as he kisses his way up her neck. Still, she can feel herself leaning into him, and sighs as she closes her eyes, her annoyance towards him quickly forgotten.

He peppers kisses all over her jaw, ear, her cheek, and Lidia is more than happy to let him, tilting her head slightly to give him better access, her body finally starting to relax a little.

“So - bad day, huh?,” and she nods. “What happened?”

“Well, this morning I almost got ran over by one of those stupid NYC cabs again, and when the driver yelled at me, I didn’t understand half of what he said, even though we’ve been here for months now. I also got another remark on my accent, by the way, and then I dropped my coffee all over myself, and I had to come back home in the middle of the day to change. Also, and when I got to the post-office to post that form for the hotel, it was closed, because of course, I was too late. And of course, to top it all off, I return home at the end of the day to find a driver licence saying I’m old.”

She doesn’t realize she’s been renting until it’s all out, and suddenly feels the tiredness of the day - of the last few weeks, really - fall on her shoulders at once, leaving her exhausted.

“Well, that certainly needed to get out, didn’t it?”

Lidia doesn’t protest as he manoeuvers her on the soft sheets and, before she knows it, she’s laying on her back in the middle of their bed, his familiar, reassuring body over her. He drops kisses up her arm, and then Francisco’s looking at her, his hair still wet from his shower.

“Hi there.”

“Hi,” she smiles, her fingers finding his chin. Her mood slightly better, just because he’s here, smiling back at her.

It still surprises her sometimes, the effect that man can have on her.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day.” His index gently brushes the hair away from her eyes. “And I’m sorry you’ve been feeling like New-York’s rejecting you recently, but come on - the hotel is off to a good start, you’re already everyone’s favorite boss. Eva loves her daycare. Your accent is _much_ better than mine,” and Lidia laughs. “It is!”

“It’s really not,” she says, rolling her eyes for good measure.

She wraps her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, bringing him as close as she can. “Your English is perfect and you’re definitely the one they love the most at the hotel,” she counters back. “But thank you for pretending.”

“We can always leave, you know,” he says matter of factly, making her chuckle again. “Take Eva, leave everything and head somewhere else - preferably warmer.”

She knows he’s joking, of course, only trying to make her smile. But she also knows that is she asked, he would follow her, no question asked, and not for the first time, she wonders if there’s anything he wouldn’t do for her.

Fingers in his curls, Lidia brings him to her, and kisses him. “It’s okay - I got all I need right here.”

* * *

(The day she turns 30 for real, Lidia’s woken up by light touches and small kisses, his fingers lightly travelling on her arms as he brushes his lips on her neck and legs and shoulders and stomach.

She figures 30 isn’t that bad a number, after all.)

* * *

Lidia is 35, and as she stands on the deserted roof of the phone company where everything started, Madrid at her feet, she realizes she’s about to have all the things her younger self has ever wanted. 

Eva is perfect, so perfect, and although she doesn’t have her name nor his eyes, she’s their daughter, and always will be.

Francisco is safe and sound, awake and alive and all hers.

She has three tickets right here in her pocket, back to the life the Civil war had taken them from. And now, against all expectations, they can do it - they can go back to what they’ve been building for seven years, what she’s been longing for for months now. Away from the suffering, the pain, the memories that their home country holds.

If only the price to pay hadn’t been so high.

The war. The death, the sacrifices. Facing the evil that is Carmen Cifuentes yet again, enduring months and months of torture, not knowing where the ones she loved the most were, if they were okay.

In this living hell, the hardest thing was the fear that maybe, she would never get to see them again, not even one last time.

Lidia had thought that life had given her its worst. Losing Francisco, being alone in a city that she didn’t knew, and that was far too hostile for an innocent teenage girl. Beltran's blackmail, falling from a building, having her daughter kidnapped and nobody but one believing she was alive. Carlos letting her down, over and over again. Seeing Francisco getting shot in front of her, and thinking he wouldn’t wake up. Losing Angeles.

What more could happen? How bad could one’s life get?

As they settled in their new, American life, she really thought she finally got her happy ending, the life she had always wanted. And she had - they both did. Today, it’s a miracle they get another shot at it when so many have lost their home, their life, their loved ones.

She’s lucky. 

Despite everything, despite the way her heart is twisting at the thought of Angeles, Sara, Carlos - she knows she’s incredibly, insanely lucky.

Lidia has never believed in God, but today, she’s thanking whoever is up there.

When Francisco's arms close around her waist from behind, Lidia immediately leans back into him, almost on instinct. Her head falls back on his shoulder, his lips find the beauty mark on her neck, and once again, her heart aches at how much she’s missed him, these past few months.

He leaves another kiss on her jaw,  and Lidia tightens his hold on her.

“Marga and Carlota are here,” he whispers softly. “Eva’s already in the car, she's said goodby to Sofia - everything’s ready.”

It’s time now.

Almost a year of horror and lost has passed, and now, it’s finally time to go home.

Nodding, Lidia turns into his embrace, and looks at him, at his beautiful, wonderful face for a few seconds before her fingers close around his jacket and she tugs him close so she can kiss him properly. Slowly, tenderly.

She pecks him one last time, and when his eyes meet hers and he smiles, Lidia smiles back.

“Marry me.”

Francisco looks so shocked, it’s almost comical.

“What?”

Lidia simply shrugs, unable to stop the small smile on her face. “Well, you asked the first time - it’s only fair I do it now.” 

It takes him a second, but she can see the exact moment he remembers that day a million years ago, when they were two childs too young to know anything about life, but were convinced they had love figured out, even at six year-old.

Maybe they did, after all.

His eyes soften, and Lidia can feel him holding her even closer as she continues. “You know that’s the first thing I remember ever wanting? Marrying you. And all those weeks in that damn prison, all the days after, when we were fighting and it seemed like we could die any moment, I just - I tried to understand why we hadn’t done it yet, and I really couldn’t think of a single reason why. It just seemed - absurd, really.”

Lidia’s usually very good at telling what he’s thinking just looking at his face. This time, she can’t.

“I love you, Francisco. I’ve always loved you.” She can feel her hold on his shirt get a little tighter, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “And right now, it feels like everything’s awful, like things will never be okay again - but I get to go back home with you and Eva, and I know they will.”

A rush of affection and love wash over her, and Lidia hope he understands just how much she means every word.

“You’re my whole world. And if - "

"Yes," and this time, it's her that's taken by surprise. He's looking at her that way that makes her heart stop, race, all at the same time. 

Just like it does now.

One of his hand leaves her wait, and joins hers on his chest as his face gets even closer to hers. Gently, he kisses her nose, his eyes never leaving hers. 

A smile breaks into his face, and she can feel her own grows as he utters his next words.

"Yes - of course I'll marry you."


End file.
